High Heels and UFO Ties
by spacexbetweenxstars
Summary: A reflection of the wardrobe of our favourite agents from their perspective.


Clack

Clack

Clack

Clack

Her heels clacking on linoleum tiles has become as sort of nerve racking comfort to her. Doesn't matter where she is, walking down the hallway to their office, bursting through hospital doors shouting orders and fighting tears, or walking in her kitchen after a long frustrating case.

The tick of her heels on hard surfaces is as natural as breathing or a heart beating. It almost feels weird to take them off at the end of the day.

She feels rebellious when she doesn't wear them, like when she goes to the gym or on a run. Even the occasional case in the woods.

These heels even though there are many that have been lost, destroyed and replaced they are just as much a part of her as anything thing is.

In a way that scares her. Since when has she been boiled down to a pair of business professional FBI sanctioned high heeled shoes?

She use to be so much more than that. A high school rebel who sneaks a cigarette from her mother's purse when she doesn't think she's looking.

A bright young student taking on the world, four med classes at a time. Leaving her competition in the dust. Out shining the brightest of students.

The Ice Queen of the FBI. A woman whom no man could touch, whose very existence demanded respect and evened playing field.

A woman who has stared death in the face and made it bend to her will.

A believer who's faith has been molded and reformed. Strengthened by the cruelty of the world.

A child lost without guidance, terrified of the world around her. Threatened by the shadows in the corners and under her bed.

Clack

Clack

Clack

She can do anything, be anyone with those heels on her feet.

She pauses at the door to their office. Her name may not be on the door, and at one time that might have bothered her, but now she's glad that its not. Because she can be whoever she wants to bed.

She smiles at the thought, and opens the door. She wouldn't be anyone but who she is.

Mrs. Spooky FBI's most unwanted.

aeaeaeaeaeaeaeaeaeaeaeaeaeaeaeaea

He hates the dress shirts and suits with coordinating ties, the best that hold the pants that feel like weights on his legs.

He has ruined more suits, ties and shoes on the case he has chased across the country. Accounting hates it too, they always complain about all the suits he has lost.

Of course they grumble about everything he does in that office down in the basement. If he is completely honest he grumbles sometimes too.

He glares at he ties hanging in his closet. If he dies, its going to be because of his tie getting caught on something and choking him to death. He smirks evilly at his ties. Boys in accounting would like that.

He grabs one off the hanger a black one with glow in the dark UFOs on it. It was a gag gift for christmas one year. He figures if they make him wear a tie might as well wear one that is just a little odd like he is.

he wonders if he will ever feel comfortable in his FBI regulated suits and ties. He'll push the limits as much as he can though. An alien tie here and UFO tie there. They probably cost more than the dime a dozen at Macy's too. He grinned as he tied the tie around his neck. Boys in accounting will love that.

He makes plans to waste taxpayers money looking online for more ties like this UFO one he has now. Maybe he'll find some socks too.

Tucking his shirt into his pants and closing his belt he grabs his coat, keys and badge.

Walking into the bull pen was probably one of the hardest things he has ever done. Whispers follow him as he gets his crappy morning coffee. He was fighting hard not to even smirk at everyone he passes. Wearing this tie has probably been his best idea to date. They can't make fun of him if he openly admits it. They can't touch him anymore.

Suddenly everything is alright, the world is spinning with him. A couple of the male agents nudge each other with shit-eating grins on their faces nodding their heads in his direction.

They mean nothing to him. He takes his coffee, head held high, shoulders squared, determination in his step. the world is his oyster.

Hitting the B button in the elevator he grins as the doors close.

Mr. Spooky FBI's most unwanted.


End file.
